seen
such literary men. They were incredibly vain, but quite open in their
vanity, as though they were performing a duty by the display of it.
Some (but by no means all) of them even turned up intoxicated, seeming,
however, to detect in this a peculiar, only recently discovered, merit.
They were all strangely proud of something. On every face was written
that they had only just discovered some extremely important secret. They
abused one another, and took credit to themselves for it. It was rather
difficult to find out what they had written exactly, but among them
there were critics, novelists, dramatists, satirists, and exposers of
abuses. Stepan Trofimovitch penetrated into their very highest circle
from which the movement was directed. Incredible heights had to be
scaled to reach this group; but they gave him a cordial welcome, though,
of course, no one of them had ever heard of him or knew anything about
him except that he "represented an idea." His manoeuvres among them
were so successful that he got them twice to Varvara Petrovna's salon
in spite of their Olympian grandeur. These people were very serious and
very polite; they behaved nicely; the others were evidently afraid of
them; but it was obvious that they had no time to spare. Two or three
former literary celebrities who happened to be in Petersburg, and with
whom Varvara Petrovna had long maintained a most refined correspondence,
came also. But to her surprise these genuine and quite indubitable
celebrities were stiller than water, humbler than the grass, and some
of them simply hung on to this new rabble, and were shamefully cringing
before them. At first Stepan Trofimovitch was a success. People caught
at him and began to exhibit him at public literary gatherings. The first
time he came on to the platform at some public reading in which he was
to take part, he was received with enthusiastic clapping which lasted
for five minutes. He recalled this with tears nine years afterwards,
though rather from his natural artistic sensibility than from gratitude.
"I swear, and I'm ready to bet," he declared (but only to me, and in
secret), "that not one of that audience knew anything whatever about
me." A noteworthy admission. He must have had a keen intelligence since
he was capable of grasping his position so clearly even on the platform,
even in such a state of exaltation; it also follows that he had not
a keen intelligence if, nine years afterwards, he could not re